Relative Something

Happy September!

Do not expect to find any answers in this post. But feel free to wallow in questions that hold little in the way of purpose…

Why aren’t there weeds in the woods?

Is it possible to yawn during an angry tantrum?

Would rock ‘n’ roll music have evolved if the only instruments that existed to this day were the same ones used in classical orchestral music?

Courtesy my friend David P.: Someday, will there be an implant that allows humans to capture an image that we see through our eyes so we can take pictures without having to dig out our camera?

How would your performance at your day job be affected by having a stadium of 80,000 people watching you and the job limited to 90 minutes to complete, while the spectators cheered and jeered?

How come we still call professional sports, “sport”, when it’s become so much like work for the millionaires participating in it?

How does Lindsey Buckingham, guitarist/singer with the band Fleetwood Mac, elicit all those notes and sounds out of his guitars with that finger picking style at the speeds he does?

Do scientists get embarrassed to release reports of studies they have done that come to conclusions that are absolutely common sense obvious to all the rest of us?

Is anyone surprised when damages from disasters reach higher dollar amounts than ever before?

What if people bought artist’s work while they are still alive instead of waiting until they die?

What would it be like if everyone always smiled a genuine smile, all the time – even when it didn’t feel genuine?

Is it possible to look deeply into someone’s eyes and not really see them?

What would it be like if you had to teach someone how to be you and describe how and why you do everything the way you do?

Being *this* John W. Hays is a lot like being different than just being the same as what it would be like if I were being unlike how it is when I become aware I am being more like what it’s like when I am being like what all the other John W. Hays named individuals would be like were they to suddenly take stock in what being *this* John W. Hays would be like in any other shoes than mine, if you know what I mean.